


The Magic of Imperfection

by victimofthebbc



Category: Fandom of Reader's Choice, Original Work
Genre: Bad Poetry, British Slang, Mild Language, Multi, Poetry, gratuitous self-publication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:24:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1719038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victimofthebbc/pseuds/victimofthebbc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Substitute your own fandom, ships and characters; I think everyone can relate to wanting someone not to accept their faults but actually love them for it. </p><p>(You're going to have to forgive me for using some pronouns and gender-indicative descriptions but I think we'll all agree that (insert character name here) and "he/she" kinda disrupt the flow of a piece and that you all have sufficient imagination to make it work without me prompting you.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Magic of Imperfection

**Author's Note:**

> My brain was buzzing all night on a caffeine-high so I accept minimal fault for the following.

The world naturally falls into order.

Equilibrium is reached,

A shoreline is smoothed out,

Air moves from high to low pressure,

And uniformity rules.

 

So the very fact that you are different,

That you are special,

Is nothing short of miraculous.

It's astounding.

It's stupefying.

It's inexplicable.

It's magic.

 

And I must ask you to forgive me when I gape at your imperfections,

and place them on the highest pedestal I can reach.

It's because I truly don't understand what I've found.

I want to preserve these discoveries because what I've found I will never find again.

They are anomalies in a homogeneous data set and they enchant me.

I love them like a child loves a jagged crystal they find on a hot unbroken plane of cement.

I don't know how this came to be, but I know that now I've found it, I'll never let it go.

 

So I'm not pitying or placating you when I say I love your slightly too-high-pitched-to-be-masculine voice.

I'm not lying to make you feel better about yourself when I proffess my love to your knobbly knee-caps.

And don't you ever think I am uttering anything but holy truth and benediction blessed by God Himself when I tell you that your inability to ever say anything right in any social setting under the sun or stars is the reason I cannot imagine facing the long road ahead without your morning breath in my face, your stutter gracing my ears or your chronically sweaty palm in mine.

 

The incomprehensible odds have been beaten and your imperfections have survived due to powers beyond my own base and rudimentary reasoning.

But even this I could not call superlatively inconcievable.

Becasue that title belongs to the suggestion that I may not be allowed to document and exalt the miracle of your faults,

Or that these chips in an otherwise flawless persona may actually be buffed out and polished away.

 

Because that is utter bollocks.

 


End file.
